Ships in the Night
by AnimeAuthorForevr
Summary: They were best friends. Well...the best of friends they could be while one traveled the universe and the other traipsed about London. Amy and Sherlock have grown up together. They've had their timestreams altered fifty four different times. They've fought alongside the Doctor. But they're still working on overcoming their most difficult challenge yet... each other. Pondlock romance
1. Chapter 1

Oh I'm so excited! This is my first crossover fic and I could not be more happier with the pairing! This'll be fun, yes? Yes. Yes it will be. I love Doctor Who, and Sherlock. Benedict Cumberbatch and Matt Smith are beautiful people.

This story is for my dear sweet friend Regan, a girl who believes in the friendship of Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Pond. Oh dear sweet Regan…do you really think I can just make them friends?

My inspiration for this work goes out to the video "Ships in the Night / Sherlock/Amy" by Liisakee on Youtube. Watch it, like it, love it, read this. Life will be beautiful.

* * *

_Like ships in the night…_

_You keep passing me by…_

_Just wasting time._

_Tryin' to prove who's right. _

* * *

**Ships in the Night**

**Chapter One**

They were childhood friends. Best friends even.

Well…

The best of friends they could be while one traveled the universe and the other traipsed about London.

Sherlock could count the number of times their timestreams had been jumbled, crossed, or erased entirely. And it was fifty three. Fifty three exactly. Fifty four, the consulting detective corrected himself as his blue eyes flitted to a framed photograph.

He knew for a fact that he and Amy had never visited the Bronx zoo, yet his brain still continued to supply memories of the occasion. The air, the taste of their abysmal coffee, the snow globe of the penguin attraction she had bought for him… it was sitting on the shelf above his headboard, if he recalled correctly.

"But never mind that." Sherlock murmured absently, reverting his gaze to the ceiling. His fingers were done in the usual prayer position and he tapped them together impatiently. He splayed across the leather couch bonelessly. His usual coat and scarf were amiss, replaced instead by his pajama bottoms, shirt, and blue bathrobe.

He needed a pen.

But John was out.

And he. was. bored.

Amy surely would have provided some form of entertainment. She had certainly kept him stimulated over the years. But she too was gone, off on some distant planet in a far off galaxy saving alien orphans or some such rubbish. Sherlock snorted, a corner of his mouth rising. She pop in sooner or later in his timestream. It really didn't matter all that much.

He really needed that pen.

The door to the flat opened. He inclined his head slightly.

"Ah, John. Welcome back."

He was not dignified with a response. Sherlock frowned, eyebrows contracting. Was he _really_ still that upset? How childish. He scowled, turning over and drawing his robe tighter to him. His normally vivid blue eyes stared aimlessly at the upholstery. Humans being were such touchy things…Sherlock thanked God he wasn't like them.

"Could you bring me the head and a pen? I'd like to do some experiments and I'm afraid that our friend here is starting to mold." Footsteps simply walked into the kitchen.

He heard the fridge door open.

"If you could bring it here, John." Sherlock felt a brief smile touch his lips.

"What did you do _now_?"

Just as quickly, it disappeared. His scowl deepened. Of course it wouldn't be John, because oddly enough, John was still upset. He was still bothered by trivial matters. And Sherlock. was still. bored! He drew his knees up to his chest, sulking in a cloud of misery. Why did John have to be so damn unreasonable?

"Oy, Sherlock." A warm weight settled down to him. His grip tightened around his knees. "Go away." He muttered into the couch. Sherlock heard her suck in an indignant breath. Very not good. Then, his head hurt. His face stung. She must've hit him. She then took hold of an arm and rolled him over, splaying his limbs about the couch. He coiled up almost instantaneously again, to her chagrin.

"Nice to see you Amy, glad you didn't wind up sucked in a black hole or erased from existence!" Amy said heatedly, crossing her arms. Sherlock simply ignored her, pulling his robe taunt around her. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Be a dear and get me some tea, will you?" he grumbled, staring at the couch.

"Sherlock Bartholomew Holmes."

Oh dear, she used his full name.

Yet the detective only uttered a grunt of acknowledgement.

"What are you actin' like a child for?" When he didn't answer, she sighed, rolling him over to face her. He sprawled lazily across the leather, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it held the answers to the universe. Amy knew for a fact that it didn't. "Talk to me, won't you? We're best friends, Sherlock. You can tell me anything."

Sherlock drug his fingers through his black hair before reverting them to the prayer position.

He let loose an irritated sigh.

"John and I had a fight." He finally stated dully.

"What'd you do now?"

He glared at her, eyes blue chips of irritation. "Apparently, I'm vicious and morally criminal." Amy nodded a bit. "You kinda are. Sometimes!" She amended her words as he glared at her.

His eyes looked up again.

"He's such a child." Sherlock grumbled crossly.

It grew quiet in 221B.

That is, until Amy started laughing at him.

She hadn't meant to. Honestly. But as soon as she did, she just couldn't stop. It was just too funny. The way he was sprawled across the couch like a string less puppet. He was pouting at the ceiling, glaring at it as though it had done him some great personal injury.

He looked like he was about five.

Sherlock looked at her and raised a single, solitary eyebrow in inquiry. She only laughed harder. He seemed mildly surprised. What on earth could she find humorous about his situation? The head was moldering away in the fridge, but simply because he had said something "heartless and sociopathic", as John so viciously put it, it was going to rot. This was a very serious matter.

Yet Sherlock felt his smile twitch.

Suddenly things weren't so boring all of a sudden. Amy's laugh echoed off the walls of the flat and filled it with warmth. It was interesting. It was nice. Sherlock had to admit that he had missed it very much.

"Okay, fine, I know it's stupid!" Sherlock finally yelled, throwing a pillow at her. She only continued laughing. "Amy." She clutched at her sides. "Amelia." It was just too funny.

"Amelia Jessica Pond, either stop your insane fit of laughter or crawl back into the TARDIS with that doctor you fancy."

She stopped and smacked him on the arm. Sherlock smirked. "Didn't I tell you to never call me Amelia, you bloody prat?" The statement didn't carry much threat. Amy blushed and looked away and the temptation to embarrass her was just so great that Sherlock sat up on one elbow to look at her. His blue eyes were alight and mischievous.

She looked well. No mistreatment on the Doctor's part then, or at least not yet. Sherlock smiled. Amy looked happy. Her hair was longer. It still was as flaming as ever, pooling about her neck and around the brilliant red scarf she wore. But she was wearing a miniskirt. And pantyhose. Wasn't it winter? He inhaled. She smelled like ice.

It looked cold outside.

So, winter.

Exactly how long had he been on this couch?

He scrutinized his friend.

"Oh no, you're not doing that again." Amy protested, looking away. His mouth drew up in a dangerous smile. "Sherlock!" She warned. He opened his mouth to do just 'that' and she threw a pillow over him. His deep baritone resonated through it.

"The fact that you're avoiding the latter half of my previous statement only proves my point. Not only that, but your blush and quite obvious lack of eye contact hints that the affection is not requited, or, more likely, unnoticed. Yet you continue to dress up and put your heart on the line everyday. Why? Because you believe you have a chance, that you have always had a chance, despite the fact that he is nearly a millennium old. And you may very well be right, but why bother? You want to give up more than you know, hence the converse and obviously slept in shirt from the previous day."

Sherlock sat up. He grabbed her hands and looked at her. "Now Amy, as your friend I suggest chasing after a man more suited to your needs and impeccable sense of fashion." He finished, relishing in her shocked and embarrassed look. A corner of his smiled twitched up in amusement as he looked at her. Her big green eyes were impossibly wide.

She opened, closed, and opened her mouth again. "He has fashion sense." Amy finally stammered out.

"Oh please, he wears a _bowtie_!" Sherlock leapt up, throwing his hands in the air. He could not believe this madness.

"So? Bowties are cool." Amy felt the words leave her mouth before she could stop them. She blinked. "I didn't mean to say that."

"Oh my God. You're _quoting_ him now!" Sherlock yelled incredulously, flopping back onto the couch. He looked at her, scandalized. "And I thought you could sink no lower." He said in mock outrage.

"Oh stop your whinin' and mopin' about, Sherlock. I'm not about to let you and your 'Science of Deduction'," Amy said the name in a travesty of authority, "stop me from seeing how upset you are."

Sherlock turned his head back and looked at her. He grinned.

"You read it?"

"Course I do. You're my best friend."

"I'm not upset." She laughed, turning him over for the third time. "Oh yeah you are." Amy smiled. "Didja miss me? I bet that's what it is." She cocked her head, green eyes staring intensely and full of…what was it again? Sherlock wondered. Sparkles? No. Fire. Yes, _fire_ was the more appropriate term to describe what he saw in her eyes. He knew what that meant. She was plotting.

"What are you planning, Amy?"

"What? Me? I'm not planning anything." The redhead replied, a bit too innocently.

"Come off it, you've got an idea twirling around in that head of yours I can see it trying to get out." She punched him in the shoulder. "Oh come on, don't be silly." Amy grabbed his hand. "Now," she chirped, "let's go outside, shall we?"

Sherlock's brief peek into humanity snapped close. He idly turned his gaze to the ceiling once again as he reclined back.

"There is absolutely nothing of interest to me, out there, on earth, at all." He remarked.

"Oh yea?" She grinned at him. "What about all of time and space?"

"Not interested." Sherlock said flatly, snapping his eyes to her. They were mildly annoyed.

"Not even a little?"

"Not even remotely." He drummed his fingers together impatiently.

"Well…The Doctor figured that you might feel that way…"

"He did, did he?"

"Yea." Her curious tone of voice made Sherlock look at her again. She had that smile on her face, that smile that had scared him since he was a boy and they were growing up together. It was a terrifying smile, a smile full of potential and power. And it was the only smile in the world that made him want to run.

Amy had that smile.

"So that's why he had River give me this."

The only thing Sherlock felt was Amy's hand on his arm as the flat disappeared.

* * *

"Amy, I _specifically _asked you to not teleport me! I'm in my house clothes for godssake and now you're…now we're…" Sherlock looked down. And swayed. "Well, I was not expecting that." He blurted in disbelief.

It was a rare thing to catch the consulting detective off guard, even more so to render the man speechless. It was a feat only accomplished by two people.

Amy was proud to be one of them.

She clapped him on the back. Sherlock jumped. "Isn't it beautiful? Admit it. You love it." He swallowed. And swallowed again. "It's…high." Amy laughed, leaning over the safety railing. "It's beautiful…Come off it. You've stood on the ledge of skyscrapers." Sherlock shook his head, backing up. He was pale. "Not this high, never this high…"

"Take me back."

Her green eyes flashed. "No!" she said indignantly. "Outside's good for you, Sherlock!" He glared at her. "That's beside the point, Amelia. You know I don't like heights." Amy laughed, looking over the Dubai skyline. "Oh, bull. It's not even that high." Sherlock wanted to grab her and shake her, but he stayed still. He could feel the structure sway in the evening breeze.

"I'm sure it's not that high for Ms. I've-traveled-the-universe-and-stood-on-top-of-Jupiter or something, but the Burj Khalifa is the tallest building in human existence! You know I hate hate _hate_ being up this high." Sherlock crossed his arms, brooding. He was white, whiter than normal. His blue eyes, normally so veiled and closed, were mildly uneasy.

Amy looked back at him. She smiled softly. "There's my boy." She ruffled his hair fondly. "It took you a while to come back, Sherly. I was worried I'd lost my best friend for a minute there." Sherlock ducked from her hand disapprovingly. "Don't call me that, _Amelia_. It's Sherlock." She pouted at him.

What was wrong? Sherlock never acted like this when he was with her. He was always so happy when he was around her. He loved her company. She loved his. Amy looked at him. He was like her brother. Her big, pouty, tall brother.

Exactly how long had she been away this time? He'd been fine two weeks ago.

What time was she in anyway? She hadn't checked the clock before she left the TARDIS. Sherlock's calendar had to be at least two years old. And the Doctor had thrown her cell phone into a supernova. A supernova. Just because she wouldn't stop updating her Facebook. "Whatchu need to update Facebook for? You can't exactly put, 'Visiting the Tower of London in its heyday' as a status, Pond!"

"Three years, in case you're wondering."

Amy blinked. Sherlock was by her side again, arms crossed, nervous, brooding, upset, distant….staring out at the Dubai skyline. Tens of thousands of points of light, big and small, gold, green, red…beauty. "Sorry?" She turned her face towards him in disbelief. He wouldn't look at her. When he did, he seemed like he was holding something back. "It's been three years, Amy. That was the last time I saw you." Now her whole body was turned to him. She blinked. Her green eyes were filled with denial.

"No, nope. Couldn't have been. I had a calendar. I checked off the days until I could see you." Amy denied. He turned his head in her direction.

"Three years. I had a calendar too." Was it her wildly overactive imagination, or did he look sad…?

"Oh Sherlock, I'm sorry." She hugged him tightly. He just stood there. "I could've sworn it wasn't that long…"

"The skyline…it is…beautiful." Sherlock had trouble saying the words. He hated that Amy could make him care like this. He didn't like to care. He didn't care. "Amy, let go. You know I detest touching people." Amy smacked him on the forearm, drawing away. "Piss off." She reprimanded, but her tone was teasing.

"Three years…" Amy mused.

"Mhmmm." Sherlock nodded.

"Was that when you realized that you were gay?"

The wind whistled through the Burj Khalifa.

"_What?_"

Sherlock's loud, almost shout of a question triggered the alarms.

That was when Amy grabbed him and timejumped back.

She was still holding him when they materialized in the flat in front of a very surprised John. "Evening all." The doctor managed to say, choking on his tea. He was the least of their problems. Amy was laughing, Sherlock was bewildered. "Oh my God, can you _believe_ that? We almost got arrested!" Her green eyes lit up with joy at the very thought.

"We should've gotten arrested." She said to John excitedly. "We could've just timejumped out and they would be all, 'Oy, where'd they run off to?' Brilliant!"

John looked bewildered. He looked back and forth between the two for a moment. "You must be Amy. I'm John." Amy shook his hand. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking care of him while I was gone. It was hard, huh?" She gestured to Sherlock, who was standing perfectly still, back to them. Eyes closed.

"God." John rolled his eyes. "You would not believe what I've had to-"

"You thought I was _gay_?" Sherlock thundered suddenly, scandalized. He wheeled on them with a flourish of his blue robe.

"In all fairness Sherlock,_ I_ thought you were gay." John said calmly, smiling at Amy. "You told me _she_ was a bloke, so you're even."

The smile drained from her face. "You said _what_?" She jumped up from her spot on the couch with that fire in her eyes again. Soon, she and the detective were toe to toe, arguing vehemently. "Never mind that, you thought I was _gay_!" Sherlock shouted. "That is _way_ more drastic than me altering your _gender_!" Amy looked scandalized, mouth opened. "Oh so it's no big deal if I'm a boy then? Thanks for the confidence, Sherly!"

"Sherly? She calls you Sherly?" John laughed, standing up. "Good God, Sherlock. Maybe I was wrong about what I said earlier."

"_Shut up, John._" The two turned on him, demanding in unison. Their eyes, different hues, held exactly the same breed of passion. Needless to say, John was very terrified. "Right, I am shutting up now." Both continued arguing, Amy gaining the upperhand, Sherlock fighting until the bitter end.

"What could _possibly_ make you think that?" Sherlock inquired. "Scarf. Depression about a simple fight with your flatmate." Amy ticked each trait off on a finger. "Never shown any interest in _any_ girls whatsoever. No girlfriends. Nice sense of fashion." Sherlock smiled cheekily. "Thank you."

Amy gave him a triumphant look.

"No, wait, damn!" Sherlock moaned. "That doesn't prove a _thing_." He poked her in the chest viciously.

"That hurt." Amy said. It was simply a statement.

"I know that hurt I hurt my finger."

"Well I don't care about your finger I only care about the state of my-"

John came between the two. They had been getting dangerously close with each statement. He was worried that they were either going to shag or have a fistfight. Either option would have been disturbing. He looked back and forth between them. "Right, well, that's quite enough of that." Amy was smiling.

When John looked to Sherlock, he found the exact same grin on his face.

It was unnerving.

"Alright, I'm leaving, goodbye." He hurried down the stairs and out of the flat. "Try not to burn the flat down, you two, alright?" They didn't hear him. Amy was too busy laughing. Even Sherlock was uttering a quiet, baritone chuckle.

* * *

Sherlock came back into the living room later with two mugs of tea and popcorn balanced awkwardly in his arms. Amy was lying back on the couch, watching the television. Some spilled on the rug, but when she tried to clean it, he protested. "Mrs. Hudson will take care of it."

"Now you sound like the Sherlock I grew up with." Amy fondly leaned her head on his shoulder when he sat down. "I didn't before?" he inquired skeptically. She shook her head, loosening her scarf and draping it over a nearby table. "You seemed…distant, I don't know, like you didn't want anything to do with me." She awkwardly punched his shoulder again. "You're a prat."

Sherlock gave her a dubious glance.

"I was thinking."

"You were upset, Sherlock." Amy said with an air of finality. Her tone was caring yet forceful. "I had a row with John. I thought I'd said this earlier?" The detective raised an eyebrow. "Yea, I know." She muttered, raising her own.

Concerned, slightly irritated green stared into inquisitive blue.

"You don't believe me."

"Not a bit." Amy turned to the television as a girl screamed. "I think…" she leaned her head up on his shoulder, smiling at him. "…you missed me." Sherlock chuckled darkly. "Hardly." He too began to watch the movie. It was a shame when Amy fell asleep mere minutes later. He had already found out who the killer was. But she had fallen asleep on him, drooling.

So Sherlock Holmes decided to sit there for a bit.

And allow himself the simple comfort of just being…_normal_.

* * *

A very peaceful, very rested Sherlock awoke the next morning to the sound of whirring. Morning streamed in through the windows of the flat as he blinked and looked about. His arm felt numb. There was a ginger laying on it.

Within moments, the TARDIS had materialized dangerously close to their couch. Amy didn't seem to wake. She only stirred and muttered, "Doctor…", from her perch on his arm. He had moved it around her when he noticed her shivering. And then she wouldn't let it go. Sherlock had tried everything. Gentle coaxing, forceful pushing, and at one point he considered an acid drip. He _had_ wanted to test the effects of hydrochloric acid on skin…

He cast an irritated glance at the bowtied, suspendered man. "Do _not _wake her, understand?" Sherlock hissed over her sleeping form. The Doctor's eyes widened to unnatural, childlike proportions. He seemed genuinely surprised. "But I need her to go to the 53rd century with me. Now." He hissed just as urgently back, walking forward. "There's some funny business with a satellite and the owner will only talk to gingers!"

Carefully, gingerly, Sherlock managed to take back his arm. He took the Doctor to the kitchen. "Why can't you just dye your hair?" The man was bouncing nervously from foot to foot, sonic screwdriver nervously being fiddled with. "Already tried that. Saw through me in about a minute. Said I didn't act like a ginge, can you believe it? Took me six months to get it the original shade again and not a thing came from it!" The Doctor said indignantly.

"Yes, that's all very well, but can you be _quiet_?" Sherlock cast a glance at his sleeping friend. Her mouth was open. She sporadically twitched and mumbled. And she drooled. He smiled, before turning back into his sociopathic self as his cold blue eyes cut to the Doctor. The Doctor smiled.

"You know what today is. I need her as far away as you can possibly take her." He pointed to her. "I need her _completely_ at ease." He looked the Doctor straight in the eyes. They were almost equal in height. "Are we clear?" Sherlock demanded.

The Doctor sonicked him quickly. "As clear as the glass gardens of Tarmania."

Sherlock didn't even bother to ask.

"Now." The Doctor clapped his hands together loudly. Amy jumped. "Come along Pond, we've got a planet to save!" She smiled at him sleepily, rubbing her eyes and rising. She followed him without question, always trailing behind him with that grin on her face.

Sherlock looked at her.

He looked at her for a long time.

And when she turned to him that final time, bathed in the light of the TARDIS, he panicked a bit.

"Amelia!" Sherlock grabbed her and pulled into an unexpected hug. "Sherlock…?" Amy drew his name out in confusion. "Amy." He corrected himself, holding her. She hugged him back. "Thought you 'detested' touching people?" she teased, voice muffled. "Goodbye, Amy." She drew back and punched him in the shoulder again.

"You act like I'm never coming back."

She hugged him.

"I'm coming back, stupid."

"Good." Sherlock drew back. "I'm looking forward to it." He waved as the TARDIS dematerialized.

John sleepily poked his head out from the stairs. "Was that Amy leaving?" He nodded. "Alright then, _I _am going down to the bakery. Would you like anything?" Sherlock shook his head. John left.

And Sherlock ended up where he started the previous day.

He flopped on the couch, drew his knees up, and pulled his blue robe around himself.

Amelia Pond and Sherlock Holmes.

They had been best friends since the first moment she had told him about her Raggedy Doctor.

He hadn't believed her, and called her crazy.

She bit him.

And he cried.

It was the first and last time he had ever done that.

Three hours later, Sherlock was showered and dressed. In place of his usual blue, a brilliant red scarf hung about his neck.

"Sherlock? You going out?" John voice floated down to him.

"Just for a bit. Need some air." His phone beeped.

"Okay, bye."

"Yea. Bye." Sherlock looked down.

_I'm waiting…_

_- JM _

* * *

Yes, I gave Sherlock a middle name. Yes, he's wearing Amy's scarf. And yes, I stole a quote from the Sherlock Holmes movie. Anyone who can guess said quote receives a dedication next chapter and a Benedict Cumberbatch imaginary plushy.


	2. The Impossible

Thank you to the three people that reviewed. Your comments made me feel like this story wasn't just a meaningless thing no one could be bothered with floating around in the confines of deep space. And now… a Sherlock quote for your amusement.

Mycroft: This is a matter of national importance! Grow up!

Sherlock: Get off my sheet.

Mycroft: Or what?

Sherlock: Or I'll just walk away!

Mycroft: I'll let you.

* * *

_And if it all goes crashin' into the sea…_

_If it's just…you and me,_

_Tryin' to find the light…_

* * *

**Ships in The Night**

**The Impossible**

"Sherlock!" No one responded to the name. "Oy, Sherlock!" Amy popped out of the TARDIS happily. "Sherlock, I came back! Two months, just like I promised! I kept track this time!" Well…technically it had been two months. On Earth. In the TARDIS, it had been about a week. But she had still kept track. She had made River do the necessary calculations and everything. The Doctor had simply stared blankly, amazed and fiddling with some sort of new gadget thing. "Sherlock!" she shouted, looking around.

The flat was silent, eerily so. Usually John and Sherlock were arguing. Or Sherlock was shooting his gun at the wall.

But things were packed, strewn about the room…

Boxes piled to the ceilings, boxes on counters…

Amy looked around, bewildered, her eyes impossibly wide. "Doctor?" she called back over her shoulder. "Doctor can you come out here for a bit?" The redhead ventured no further. She simply leaned out into the flat, feet glued to the TARDIS floor. "Hello? John? Sherlock?" she yelled. No one answered.

Where were they? Had she messed up the timeline again? This couldn't be right. Was someone else living here? Something was wrong. Very wrong. The room felt cold, distant even. Like no one had inhabited it for years. But surely Sherlock would have told her if he was planning to move….right?

"Doctor?" Amy called again. Where had he gone off to _now_? Her heels hesitantly clicked on to the floor. The last thing she wanted to do was scare some poor innocent people living here. So she looked around.

_Observe, Amy. Close your eyes, breathe, and observe. Don't just see. _

Amy closed her eyes, inhaling. And when she opened them, she saw everything differently. Maybe not in the way Sherlock did. But everything still looked…wrong. His skull was still on the mantle, as eerie as ever. His books were still in place on the shelf. Mrs. Hudson had probably dusted them but…They all looked untouched…Amy went over to touch one.

"Sorry!" The Doctor exclaimed, snapping her out of her daze.

"Apologies, just rerouting a circuit breaker, fixing some…wirey…things… and metal. You know how it is!" He babbled joyously, stepping out next to her. He looked around the flat. These ancient green eyes widened. "Ah." Quickly, carefully, the Doctor whipped out his sonic.

Amy looked upstairs, eyes filled with green concern. Something was wrong…very wrong. "Doctor, did we overshoot the timestream _again_?" She rolled her eyes at the alien.

He moved around the flat, green light pulsing happily along. The skull leered at him. Making a face, the Doctor turned it to the wall.

"Doctor, are you listening?" Amy sifted through the open boxes. Sherlock's experiments. His pipe that he never _ever _used. His lab equipment…why was everything he deemed useful, things he enjoyed, packed up in various boxes, when sentimental items were still scattered about the flat in plain sight?

_Sentiment. A useless thing Amy, something this world does not need. **Don't** get attached, **don't** keep anything that isn't useful…_

"But why are _your _sentiments still up, Sherly?" Amy muttered to herself. She started up the stairs.

"Ah." The Doctor spun around, clumsily as a new deer might. He read the screwdriver. Worriedly, he ran a hand through his floppy hair. "A bit not good." He turned, the words "Amy I think we should…" at his lips, but she was already clacking noisily up the stairs. The Doctor straightened his bowtie nervously before flopping down on the couch.

"A bit not good indeed."

Amy was already knocking on John's door when the Doctor found a newspaper. It was buried under all of the acclimated rubbish, old teacups and sorts. He scanned it hurriedly, green eyes jumping from line to line. A member of the royal family was involved in a sex scandal, aliens might invade _again_ this Christmas. The Doctor snorted. Usual rubbish. He simply wanted to know the date.

He bit his lip, looking upstairs.

It had been two months, four days, sixteen hours and forty seven minutes since that day.

The day the press had dubbed 'The Reichenbach Fall'.

* * *

"John? John, are you up yet?" Amy rapped on his door demandingly. The disheveled doctor answered. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. He yawned. And when John finally fully looked at her, it was as if he couldn't believe she existed.

He was shocked.

"Amy…?"

And suddenly John threw his arms around her in a crushing embrace. "Amy…oh my God, Amy!" Awkwardly, the redhead patted her friend's back. "It's so good to see you!" Amy simply stood there. She wasn't quite sure what to do.

She settled for pulling back and putting her hands on his shoulders.

"John, are you alright?"

"Hm? Yea, fine. And how are you…um…" John's face fell slightly. More like crumbled. Barely, just barely, John slipped up. His throat tightened. His blue eyes watered a bit. Amy tilted her head at him. He cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?"

What was wrong?

Why was he upset?

"I'm fine." Amy kept her tone low, soothing, calm. It was the tone of voice many a psychiatrist had used on her as a child. "I'm fine John. How are you?" she inquired carefully.

"How's Sherlock?"

Amy saw him stiffen. Saw his eyes glaze over, grow distant, grow bleary. He looked away.

"John?"

She took hold of his face.

"John?"

In a moment, he was back as if nothing had occurred. "Oh, fine, fine." The doctor laughed. It sounded forced, a nervous, high-strung thing that was borderline hysteria. Amy raised an eyebrow. "We're all fine." John reassured her. "Now." He smiled. "Let's go downstairs and I'll make us some tea, shall I?"

He was off and down clattering about in the flat before she could answer.

"Oh, hello John!"

"Good morning Doctor!"

Amy turned and looked to the door on the right. The one with the bullet holes in it. The one with the initials _SH_ carved in it by a sword that still lay lodged firmly in the wood. She traced her fingers over the lettering gently, affectionately…almost questioningly. Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob.

How badly she wanted to throw open the door and scare him half to death!

But Sherlock slept with a gun. And a hunting knife. And in the nude, if Amy could remember their last conversation over Skype correctly. All bullets and bedsheets with this one. Amy laughed softly. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be shot or rendered mentally inept for the rest of her life.

"_POND!_ You're late for tea! Naughty Pond!"

Amy jumped as the Doctor's sweet voice quoted _Alice in Wonderland_. She smiled and went down the stairs to her schoolgirl crush, following him like she always did.

But this time she'd wait for Sherlock to follow her.

* * *

When she got downstairs, it was raining heavily. Pouring, more like. It gave the entire flat a more desolate feeling, a hollowness that made…well, it made everything a tad bit awkward and melancholy. Amy regarded the two men sitting casually across from each other. Almost too casually. They tried too hard to look unsuspicious.

"Alright, what's going on?" Amy asked demandingly.

"Amy, sit down." John asked politely. The Doctor smiled and nodded, patting the space next to him. "Come along, Pond." She did so and accepted the cup offered to her, regarding them both with a wary and questioning gaze. "Will Sherlock be joining us then?" She raised an eyebrow when John choked on his tea and stuttered a "no, he's not."

"Well then where the hell is he? That's rude!"

The Doctor jumped up suddenly.

He knocked over a lamp in his excitement.

"Sorry sorry, bit clumsy!" The Doctor picked it up hurriedly. "Long, long spindly limbs you know how it is! Grasshopper, tweed grasshopper limbs!" He bounded over to John, shaking his hand furiously in both of his. "It has been a _pleasure_!" Both humans regarded him with curiosity and a mild fear for his sanity. Amy raised her eyebrow again. "Come along Amy, come along!" The Doctor pulled her up alongside him, bouncing towards the TARDIS. "Planets to see, galaxies to save from potential destruction!" He waved absently. "Goodbye, John! Have fun with Sherlock!"

Amy pulled away.

"Doctor?" He blinked childishly at her. Amy put a finger to her lips. "Hush." He blinked and babbled, shocked. "You-I-don't use my own methods against me!" He finally spat out, but by then Amy had already turned to John. "Alright, what's going on? What are you two not telling me here?" John and the Doctor both denied that anything was wrong.

"I've got a sonic screwdriver. And I am _not_ afraid to use it."

"When did you take my screwdriver?"

"Hush."

"John, I want to know." He simply handed her a cup again. "Amy, please sit down." Reluctantly, she did so. The sonic was still tightly gripped in one of her hands. The Doctor regarded his tool turned enemy with wary eyes. He sat down next to her.

Amy raised the cup of tea to her lips.

And gagged. "This tastes horrible!"

John laughed. "Well, it _was_ Sherlock's favorite."

Amy wiped her tongue off disgustedly. "Of course it would be his favorite, if _I_ hated it-" The redhead stopped, looking at John suspiciously. "Wait. What do you mean _was_? What's happened to him? Where's he gone off to _this_ time?" She stood up aggressively, anger radiating strongly off her and frightening both men.

They both froze and exchanged glances.

"The wrath of Pond." The Doctor whispered to John from behind one hand. Both men stood. "Basically…run." They moved to do so, each taking a single step back, but that was as far as they got. Amy pointed the sonic at them both threateningly.

"Sit. Down." She whispered furiously.

Naturally, the two did so out of fear.

The once friendly buzz now had all the charm of an angry Silurian as Amy pointed the tool at the Doctor. "I live with you, and I can be _extremely_ unpleasant." The Doctor swallowed. Both hearts palpitated rapidly. "Ask John, I don't want to be the one to tell you so if you could please give me back my screwdriver-"

"Wait, you're throwing _me _under the bus?"

"_Oh_ yea!" The Doctor exclaimed.

"Amy." John looked at her sadly. She was frozen, staring at him with incredulity on her beautiful face. "Amy, just go with him."

"No."

"Amelia, _please_." The Doctor grabbed her hand in his. Had the current circumstance not been so dreary and horrible she would have blushed. But instead she pulled away.

"When?" she asked softly.

"About three hours after you left, two months ago."

"He can't be dead." Amy said sternly. "He's not _allowed_ to be dead." She cast John a firm, angry glance. "He can't be." Her eyes watered a bit and she wiped at them furiously, looking away from the two men.

"Amy I _saw _it happen, I watched him-"

"That's _impossible_, John." Her tone was firm, absolute. She fixed both men with a fiery gaze nearly as vivid as her hair. "Sherlock…is not. Dead." Slightly, Amy's ferocity wavered on the last word. But with her shoulders straight and angry, she clicked back into the TARDIS. The door shut behind her.

The Doctor smoothed down his face nervously with one hand.

"God knows what she'll do if she's alone with Sexy. I can't deal with a hormonal time machine!" He lamented. The gangly man sprung to the door, casting John a glance of pity.

"Last time they ended up at a Ben and Jerry's…oh well long story!" The TARDIS began to dematerialize. "Gotta dash!" He gave John one last smile before leaping inside.

As the TARDIS went back into space, John was left alone.

Three mugs of tea sitting in front of him.

And grief as fresh as the day Sherlock Holmes died pouring down his face.

* * *

Amy was stalking furiously around the console when he jumped in, all red hair and red face and ferocity. Her face was eerily similar to her expression after he had gone for twelve years. And four psychiatrists.

The Doctor felt his hearts drop in fear.

But, then again, he supposed that that was just her angry face.

Her terrifying, horrible, angry face.

A face that invoked pure terror in the object of her displeasure.

She pulled levers, she flipped switches.

The sound of her heels echoing aggressively about the room was terrifying.

He jumped when she spoke. "Well? Is he dead?" Amy barked, not looking at him and never ceasing her pacing. The Doctor jumped for words. By this point, he wasn't sure if she was just pushing buttons or if she actually knew what she was doing. "Amy-I-eh-um-well-" the poor alien bit his lip.

"Doctor. Please. Just yes or no?" She finally stopped moving to look at him. And her green eyes were so very sad. He walked past her, righting switches and restoring order. By the time he had ceased his own pacing, Amy was tense with anxiety.

"Amy, you know I can't answer that. It's too personal."

She had anticipated that.

And Amy was not the slightest bit perturbed.

"Alright. I'll just ask the TARDIS then." She flounced over to the large, television-like monitor. He looked after her resilience in amazement. Humans…didn't they know when to give up?

Sherlock was dead.

Couldn't Amy just grieve and accept that?

Evidently not as he watched her arguing with Sexy. Sexy had locked the monitor again. And she needed the master password to open up. "TARDIS, pull up files on Sherlock Holmes." It beeped at her, affronted.

"You can't call her TARDIS Amelia!"

The Doctor walked up to his poor console. He stroked it lovingly. "You should know better." He gave her a slightly reproachful look. "How would you like it if I went around calling you 'Human' all the time?" Amy cocked an eyebrow at him in concern. "You know very well that that's not her name…" He kissed a lever and Amy felt a bit of jealousy as the time machine seemed to sigh contently at the affection.

She waved him away.

"Alright, alright…" Amy took hold of the monitor and held it firm between her desperate hands. "Sexy…"she politely began, ignoring the Doctor's sweet sigh of affirmation. "May I see the files for Sherlock Holmes?"

The screen flashed red.

_Password protected. Please state the master password. _

"Bowties are cool." Beep.

"Fish fingers and custard." Beep.

"Gallifrey!" Beep.

"Sexy!" The TARDIS seemed to laugh, but the screen stayed red.

"Amy." The Doctor grabbed her face in his hands. "Stop. Please." She had that look on her face again, that look he hadn't seen in years. He knew her. Amy was strong, Amy was defiant. But so very heartbroken when she cried.

A memory flashed through his ancient mind as he held her, her eyes so filled with tears.

The sound of Rose's heartwrenching sobs filled his ears as he closed the door on her, a cry that spanned galaxies as the last link between parallel dimensions closed forever.

"Doctor, please unlock the monitor."

"_Doctor, please don't leave me here. Please." _

His eyes closed in pain.

Those green eyes that used to be brown.

"Take me back. I want to see him."

The Doctor opened them again. Red hair instead of blonde, fierce, trembling green eyes instead of blue. Amy. Amy. Poor, poor Amy…Hurting Amy, poor Amelia Pond… "Amy, I can't do that." He moved to touch her shoulder, to explain why in all his infinite Doctor wisdom exactly why she couldn't see her best friend on the day that he died. She moved to be alone.

"You're the Doctor." Amy whispered. The sentence was uttered with the reverence of a prayer, with the hope of a wish made by a child. By a little seven year old girl. He bit his lip. Why why why why why did they always believe in him so much? He wasn't Superman, he couldn't do everything, he couldn't fix everything!

But instead of voicing them, the Doctor swallowed his frustrations. They weren't important right now.

"Amy. That's a fixed point in the universe. I can't stop that."

She glared at him.

"So he _has _to die?"

The Doctor nodded.

"You came back." And that reverence, that awe of him, was replaced by a thinly veiled accusation. He tried not to tell her how much those words had affected him. He felt hurt prick both his hearts, hot and needle sharp.

But instead, he hugged her.

"Amelia." She blinked back tears. "Amy, I am so sorry." He kissed his best friend's forehead. He stroked her hair back soothingly, that ginger hair he was so jealous of. "Believe me, I am. But there are some things even I can't fix." The Doctor felt tears wet his neck.

"I'm not askin' you to save him. I'm just askin' to see him again. Before…" Amy's voice caught on the last sentence. She stood there in his embrace as he pondered her request. She did not sob, she did not wail. Amy Pond would not cry. She would not cry yet. She would cry when she had someone to mourn.

And as far as she was concerned, Sherlock was not dead yet.

"And that's all you want?" The Doctor asked, drawing back to look directly into her eyes. "To say goodbye, and nothing more?" Amy stared right back, eyes slightly red from the sparse tears she had shed.

"Yes."

"Alright, Pond! Let's go!" The Doctor said joyously, stepping back from her embrace. Amy was an emotion kisser. And he was not about to have that again.

But she somehow pinned him against the console and aggressively kissed him on the mouth anyway.

It lasted for a brief second and Amy bounced off with a quick, "Thanks, Doctor."

And then she was gone.

The Doctor's green eyes were wide. With the embarrassed blush of a six year old schoolboy spreading across his face, he turned to the main console.

Sexy seemed to be laughing at him.

"Oh hush." He pointed a warning finger at the time machine, spinning around to properly execute his point. "I promised that it would _never_ happen again and it will not happen again." The Doctor stroked the monitor gently. "Not after…"

"Rose Tyler."

The monitor unlocked with a happy beep.

Sherlock's profile instantly became accessible.

The Doctor smiled. A password that nobody could know. A girl that nobody could possibly remember. His green eyes scanned through the consulting detective's archives.

He shut off the monitor.

He pulled a lever.

He shouted "Geronimo!"

And the Doctor charted a course through time and space to January 15th, 2012.

The day Sherlock Holmes died.

* * *

So, what did you all think? Questions, comments, concern, professions of love, anything? Flames will be given to Sherlock, along with your head for his freezer experiment.

I figured sneaking in a little Rose would be nice.

Was I right?


	3. Not An Angel

Ah, chapter three. Thank you guys for the amazing reviews. They always make my day and make me smile.

But my favorite review so far would have to be…

GallifreyanReject. Your smiley face made me giggle. Thank you for liking it xD and all of you reading, thanks!

Chapter three! Dun. Dun. Dun.

* * *

Sherlock quote of the chapter:

_Sherlock: Alone is what I have. Alone protects me._

_John: No. Friends protect people. _

* * *

**Ships in the Night**

**Not An Angel**

"I mean it, Pond! One hour that is _it_!"

"Yeah, yeah." Amy waved an idle hand at the Doctor, leaning impatiently out of the TARDIS door. Galaxies flashed and reflected in her green eyes.

"Just one! One and not a _nanosecond_ over, you hear me?" The Doctor pointed a long, stern finger at her. Amy giggled, despite the serious look present on the old alien's face. It was impossible to take this man seriously. It was like being ordered around by a nine year old boy, the way his face carried on.

Amy only obeyed him when the severity reached and hardened his eyes.

But for now…

She saluted him and gave him a cocky grin. "Sir, yes sir!" she chirped proudly.

He wasn't amused.

"I'm serious Amy!" the Doctor frowned at her. "This timeframe is shaky enough as it is, and you're not allowed to be there when he-"

"Can't be there when he dies." Her eyes hardened. "I know." She frowned and her eyes narrowed slightly at her not-so-imaginary friend. It simply wasn't fair. He was her friend. She had been with him through everything…but she couldn't be there when he died.

Even though they had promised each other to be there.

"_Ow, Amy! What the hell?" Sherlock said crossly. Blood welled on his fingertip. He looked at it in annoyance. _

"_Oh don't be such a baby, Sherly." Amy chastised him. She grabbed his finger and before he could protest, stuck in her mouth. It came out clean._

"_You're _so_ ladylike." He rolled his eyes at her. It was hot and muggy. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, blue eyes annoyed and huffy. He crossed his arms, Cupid's bow lips pouting under the hot sun. _

"_Could ya be any louder?" Amy said reproachfully. She cut her finger without as much as a thought. "Aunt Sharon won't be too happy if she finds us." Her red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. _

_She was ten and he was twelve. _

"_Now. Repeat after me." She was always so bossy. "I, Amelia Pond." Sherlock smirked. "Say your own name, smarty." Amy narrowed her eyes. The sun made them glow with a fiery green intensity. _

_They locked pinkies._

"_I, Sherlock Holmes." _

"_Promise to be there for my best friend, Sherlock Bartholomew Holmes." She squeezed his pinky tighter. _

"_Promise to be there for my best friend, Amelia Jessica Pond." Amy grinned at him evilly. She slugged him on the shoulder. _

"_To the bitter end." They both synchronized. _

"Amelia!"

Amy snapped out of her memories. They'd both been so naïve then. Of course, Sherlock would argue that she was naïve even now. But Sherlock wasn't exactly the most mature man himself.

"It's been two hours since I picked you up from Baker Street." The Doctor said softly, touching her shoulder. She smiled and hugged him. "Doctor, I can't thank you enough for this." His eyes were enough to say that she had.

"Now get out there and be with Sherlock!"

"Wait I'm not _with_ Sherlock!" Amy shouted sourly. The Doctor snickered, shutting the TARDIS door in her face. She whacked the poor box before it dematerialized. Sexy made an angry sound before she completely disappeared.

* * *

The Doctor was still chuckling at his own little joke when he heard Sexy. At first, he believed it to simply be her flying sound, but as he listened closer…

The tall, gangly man straightened and paled. "Sexy…" he said cautiously, making his way to console. "Whatchu makin' that sound for…?" The Doctor reached slowly for a lever to land them.

The TARDIS jerked wildly, throwing the room into disarray and knocking the Doctor across it.

"Ow! Hey!" the Doctor yelped, holding his head. It had taken quite a knock against the wall. "Bad Sexy, what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" The time machine seemed to swell with fury before throwing him to the floor again.

"Knock it off! Where are you taking us?" He grabbed on to the railing as she thrashed again. A book smacked him in the face.

"You're not gonna tell me, are you?" the Doctor asked, bemoaning the fact that Sexy was a woman. Well, a time machine. Well, a woman time machine type thing that got _very_ angry _very_ easily and was emotionally sensitive…

"I'll have to figure out what you want myself, won't I?"

The machine gave off a more peaceful whirr to affirm his inquiry.

The Doctor sighed and gripped the railing as Sexy raged at him a bit more.

And he braced himself for what would undoubtedly be a _very_ long ride as the TARDIS dragged him through time and space.

* * *

"Mrs. Hudson?" Amy knocked on the landlady's door rather demandingly. After a while, she had managed to tame her enflamed cheeks at the Doctor's childishly idiotic statement. She was not _with_ Sherlock. She _wanted_ to be with Sherlock.

As in, be there with him until he died, but that didn't seem to be happening!

Amy felt a brief flash of anger at her imaginary friend. But she quickly smothered it when Mrs. Hudson answered her hammering. The redhead released a sigh of relief she didn't know she had been holding. "Good morning, Mrs. Hudson!" Amy smiled, hugging her. How long had it been?

"Oh Amy! I almost didn't recognize the voice for a moment!" Mrs. Hudson shook a playfully stern finger at her. "Shame, shame dear." Her wrinkled mouth twisted into a worried frown. "It's been too long. You ought to visit more. Sherlock gets awfully lonely." The landlady looked at Amy with slight reproach, as a mother might at a disobedient daughter.

"You _are_ visiting today, yes?" Amy nodded. "Then I suppose I'll get your key." Mrs. Hudson shuffled away and returned mere moments later. Mere moments that left Amy with her fear. That nagging, persistent fear she simply could not shake off. When the old woman finally reappeared again, Amy had to fight to not tell her everything. Like Sherlock, she trusted Mrs. Hudson as her own mother, a confidant.

"Here you go dear." She smiled, kissing Amy's forehead affectionately. Mrs. Hudson sympathized with the redhead's inability to "keep track of anything" and kept the key safe in her own flat. She just didn't know that Amy tended to lose objects in black holes, supernovae, and various other space anomalies. And Amy was not about to be the one who gave Mrs. Hudson a heart attack first.

She and Sherlock had a pool going on that one.

"Thank you." Amy murmured softly. The woman gave her a once over, slightly worried.

"Are you alright, dear? You look a bit…" she gestured to her face. "Peaky. Is something the matter?" Amy swallowed. She couldn't possibly tell her…so she only smiled and laughed.

"No, m'am."

Mrs. Hudson looked unconvinced. But with an odd look that Amy did not quite miss, she let it go. "Alright. I think they're still both fast asleep not quite sure Sherlock never really sleeps anymore…" she tottered off muttering. The door shut behind her. Amy looked up, anxious, and let that slight fear have its' way at her heart again.

Sherlock was going to die today and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop it. Amy, his best friend. She was just supposed to let him die. She had stopped genocides, and yet… the Doctor couldn't allow her to save one man. One man that meant so very much to her, more than anyone, simply because his death kept the universe in balance.

If she saved him, she and the Doctor would have to go through that whole business of righting the universe again. Very tricky, very _very_ weird. Her timeline had been altered so many times and sometimes it was hard to distinguish one life from the other.

So, she couldn't save Sherlock.

But Amy wouldn't just stand there feeling sad and sorry, burdened with this future knowledge. No, dammit, she was going to make the most of this hour left with her friend and make it the best they ever had!

With a toss of her flaming red hair, Amy clicked hurriedly up the stairs. She unlocked the door and was ready to swoop in and drag Sherlock out the door when she heard his voice.

"Hello?" His wonderful baritone voice filled the flat and she smiled. Amy could've jumped for joy. If her legs hadn't suddenly lost all ability to move and her tongue hadn't suddenly died in her mouth and….if these…if these damn tears hadn't sprung to her eyes! He was her best friend. And she was going to lose him. Losing him…would be like losing the Doctor. Ripping her heart out.

"Hello? You're not a burglar, you'd have subdued me by…" Sherlock was standing in front of her, still the same. He was even still in the same house clothes, for Gods sake! However, his blue eyes were wide and showing a hint of concern. If Amy didn't know any better, she'd say that Sherlock was frightened by the sight of her crying. She let a giggle burst from her lips and she swallowed.

"Stupid bloody chair!" She cursed, kicking at the thing and holding her foot in mock pain. "Why the hell do you even keep these things around?" the redhead cursed at him, narrowing her eyes in anger. "You barely even sit as it is, Sherly!" Sherlock stood stock still, simply staring at her.

Was it her overly emotional imagination, or did he look horrified?

He stood there, looking at her with confusion evident, painstakingly so, on his face. He was standing there, hair still mussed, eyes still observing, heart still beating, breathing...Amy launched herself at him fiercely and hugged him. Sherlock started.

"Amy." He stood ever so awkwardly in her embrace, hands to his sides, body tense, rigid. "What are you doing here?" Gently but forcefully, Sherlock removed her from his being, hands on her shoulders. She looked at him ferociously, green eyes ablaze with some sort of anger that made Sherlock curious. It seemed as if the anger itself was only partially directed at him, the rest being projected on to an unknown variable that was probably currently suffering for its' crimes in some dark, remote place. He internally shivered.

"Did the Doctor shag and run?" Sherlock broke the musings with a chuckle and smirk. Amy blushed. "No, we've never-I mean- that's not why I'm here!" she finally stammered out uncomfortably over his laughter.

"The Doctor brought me back." Amy muttered, smiling. "Gave me an hour and then I have to leave again." Her eyes flickered briefly, but it was a mere wisp of emotion before her smile grew larger. Sherlock swallowed. How he _hated_ that smile.

"So, let's go!"

"Where?"

Amy rolled her eyes and tossed her red hair back with a challenging flourish. "Anywhere, stupid!" She smacked him hard on the chest. He narrowed his blue eyes at the word. Sherlock sighed, looking to the door before looking to the woman planted so firmly in front of him, hands on her hips. He took her hands in his and made her sit on the couch.

"I'm staying home today." The man said somewhat gravely. Ordinary people might sound thrilled about the very prospect of a day off, but Sherlock muttered the words like as a curse. Amy raised an eyebrow at him and felt his forehead jokingly. "You feelin' all right, Sherly? Last time I heard, you _hated_ staying at home."

Sherlock sighed and flopped back, propping his feet in her lap aggressively. "Why are you really here, Amelia?" He used her given name as a ploy to coerce the truth from his friend. "I mean, shouldn't you be off and about saving orphans from the future or planning new ways for the Doctor to fall madly in love with you, even when you know that the very idea is quite frankly ridiculous and childish within itself?" He finished, opening an eye to look at her callously.

Amy's eyes hardened to match his and she shoved his feet off with harsh force.

"Why do you _always_ feel the need to bring that up?" She asked coldly. Sherlock could not find a worthy answer, for once. Why did he feel the need to bring up her shortcomings, when obviously she knew of them herself? He normally wasn't so vicious. And for the life of her, Amy could not figure out why he had decided to start now. Of all times for them to fight, today was _not_ that day. "I wanted to stay with _you_ today, not him." Amy said. "I chose _you_ over him, can't you be happy for once? Please?"

As soon as the sound of her words died out, she felt guilty.

Sherlock however, sighed.

"I've upset you."

"Figure that out all by yourself, did ya?" she snapped back. He raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say, 'Really?'

"One hour, yes?" Sherlock coolly responded, standing. Amy could only nod, not trusting her mouth after it had just betrayed her in such a childish manner.

"Alright, let me get dressed and we'll head off."

* * *

He flounced down the stairs ten minutes later, hair damp and now fully clothed. Amy looked him up and down. No signs of anything bothering him. No impending doom. However, there was a slight problem. She narrowed her eyes in anger.

"Where's the scarf?"

"I didn't want to wear it today."

"You always wear it."

"I wanted a change."

"Why?" Amy fired out suddenly. Sherlock stopped, looking pensive. "Because I don't feel like running around all day in this ghastly weather and having a scarf flutter about my face, does that answer your question?" he snapped. She flushed. She was supposed to be enjoying this last hour with him, not _ruining_ it and turning everything they said into an argument.

Instead of snapping right back at him, like a normal Amy would do, she bowed her head and muttered a quick, "Sorry." There was a moment of awkward silence, her staring at the floor, trying not to fight with him for once, and him, confused. Sherlock Holmes was never, _never_ confused. But…Amy was acting strange. Stranger than usual and that was extremely…not good. She seemed…damn, what was that emotion again? Think, think…sad. Yes, Amelia seemed sad. Melancholy. Forlorn for some ridiculous reason. John said that you were supposed to listen to people when they got one of these…emotions. It made them feel better.

Sherlock opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wanted to ask, but wasn't sure how. He shut his mouth, deciding against the whole 'human' aspect, and instead grabbed her gloved hand in his. "Well, c'mon then." The tall man muttered, dragging her impatiently down the stairs as a child might. One might even say that Sherlock Holmes _was_ a child. That, however, was not the case. He was far from childish…he was…_different_.

_Freak_.

Damn Amy and her human emotional emotion things! She always had a way of somehow transferring them to him. His blue eyes sparked. He would _not _be beguiled by her…_feeling_ things. He simply wouldn't tolerate it. Just before opening the front door, he grabbed her shoulders and surprised her, making her look up. Her green eyes were doleful for but a moment before reflecting the female equivalent of himself.

Not as sexy or sociopathic of course, but in a sense.

"What?" Amy asked, planting her feet firmly and putting her hands demandingly on her hips. "What are you lookin' at me like that for?"

"If you don't cheer up and stop having an Amy emotion this minute, I will build some sort of universal cell phone, or…" He glanced down. "Steal the one protruding so very conspicuously from your back pocket and spend the next hour negotiating for the Doctor to come back and remove you from this time period. Are we clear?" Sherlock asked, staring intensely and somewhat crossly at her. The redhead glared back.

The pair stared at each other for minutes.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Amy asked him. "Let's go." Sherlock made an irked sound and grabbed her gloved hand, dragging her out the door.

"Going out for a bit, Mrs. Hudson!"

"Oh, goodbye Sherlock! Bye Amy!"

He hailed a taxi quite easily. Once they got inside, Sherlock crossed one leg over the other and stared out the window impassively, brow furrowed, blue eyes distant. Amy did the same, in a sense. She was a bit on edge as of late. Completely understandable.

How was it going to happen? The Doctor hadn't, no, _wouldn't_, tell her. It could be anything, anything at all. An automobile accident, he could get shot, drown, blow himself up during one of his experiments…Amy swallowed uneasily.

This bloody idiot was a walking disaster! He didn't even look both ways before dashing across the road, for Godssake!

"Stop." His deep voice delicately ripped from her melancholy reveries. She opened her mouth to explain.

"Here sir?" the cabbie asked incredulously.

Sherlock exited swiftly without another word. Leaving Amy with an expectant cab driver. She sighed and paid him. When she got out of the cab, he was standing still, hands in his pockets. A brief breeze ruffled his hair.

"Do you remember this place?" he asked her.

Amy looked around. An old, but sturdy wooden bench tucked quietly away in a corner of the park. Concealed by a few trees and an ideal spot to simply sit and think. Grass everywhere in a great circle, dew still clinging to its blades from the heavy fog last night. She gave Sherlock a confused look. "What are we doin' here?" she asked. He simply shrugged, looking away, a curious expression on his pale face. He seemed almost…awkward. More shut off than usual, but different.

She wandered over to the old bench she used to sit at. "Why'd you bring me here, Sherly?" Amy asked again. Sherlock gave her a hard look. "It's obvious." He said. Amy looked at the bench. This was where she used to sit and read…or people watch. She'd been people watching the first time she had met Sherlock. No one usually noticed her before, but him…well he did his weird deduction thing and felt someone watching him immediately. And this was how he met her the first time. When he was ten. And already a well trained sociopath, mind you.

"_People watching?" He had sauntered up to her, asking arrogantly. "How droll." He hadn't even bothered to sit down. He simply looked her over with those cold, calculating eyes of his. Noticing her notes on the people, he snorted at them and casually leaned against a tree. _

"_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong." He had said. _

_Amy had opened her mouth to tell him off in indignation, but he had already started rambling. _

"_The one over there is a nurse, not a…"he had leaned over her shoulder, "'workaholic trapped in a cubicle, addicted to caffeine.'" He looked to the woman they were staring at. "She works long hours in the hospital and she has that quiet, ridiculous beside manner about her that proves she's got a relative in the hospital. She may even be taking care of said relative, who is her daughter, guessing by the way she is playing with that little stuffed animal keychain." _

_His blue eyes had been so cold and empty back then. _

_She had had a horrible mouth for an eight year old. _

_Amy had promptly stood up and swore at him, to his amusement. Well, it may have been amusing, she had never been quite sure. A corner of his mouth had lifted slightly. She remembered going home and pondering that smile, wondering whether it was cocky and arrogant or simply amused. She realized now that she simply didn't have an answer. It was just his smile. _

"_Well who are you to act so high and mighty? These people could all be your friends, or you could simply be blowin' smoke out your arse!" She had crossed her arms indignantly. But even back then she saw the wisdom in his eyes. That remarkable ability to see through everyone and everything, an odd yet amazing endowment. She had known that he wasn't lying. She just didn't like the prospect of being wrong at that age. It still irked her. _

"_I could..." Sherlock had said, that half grin still present. "But how do you know if I didn't?" He had waited for her response until his head suddenly turned. _

"_Good day, Miss...?" _

_Amy had frowned. "Sod off." _

_He had simply shown up the next day, sitting in her spot nonetheless. And that was when she had hit him for the first time. A great big punch to the jaw had sent him sprawling to the ground. _

_And he had cried. For the first and last time. _

"It was the first place I saw you, Amelia. And the last." Sherlock grabbed her and sat her forcibly down on the bench. It creaked ominously under the weight of their older, adult selves. The look on his face was a matter of urgent importance, but whatever the matter was, it didn't seem like he'd tell her. Instead he said, "Amy, I need you to leave. We can't 'hang out'" he quoted with his fingers, "today. Any day but today."

Amy glared at him. He glared just as defiantly back. "I see you four times," she began slowly, "_four_ times out of _one. Whole. Year._" Her tone was low, but powerful and filled with rage. "Only four and the _one _time I can convince the Doctor otherwise, you don't want to," she threw his words back at him. "'hang out' today?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Alright what it is going on?!" She asked him. "You've been acting like a psycho all day." Sherlock opened his mouth. "More than usual, now can it and tell me what the _hell _is going on with you or so help me." The redhead grabbed him by his coat front. "I will _end _you, Sherlock Holmes."

For an absurd moment, Amy thought that this was how it would end.

She would kill Sherlock and that would be how he died.

But then he removed her hands from his coat forcibly and sighed. "Stop being so theatrical. I just need to…" Sherlock snapped his eyes open and looked at her as if some realization had dawned upon him.

"I'm going somewhere and you can't go." He said coldly. His eyes were blue chips of ice on snow.

"Just try and stop me." She retaliated. "I'm going."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Well for one thing, you're looking at me as if I'll be hit by a train at any given moment." Sherlock snapped.

"Do I?" she asked innocently.

"Or as if my body will suddenly stop functioning without reason." He retaliated. The pair stared each other down for a moment, searching for weaknesses skilled in being hidden, looking for signs of a problem that couldn't be found.

Amy finally broke the silence with a defensively, cheeky, "Well, you could." And Sherlock followed the statement with a cold laugh, a mean laugh that froze the very air and killed puppies. "God." He said, laughing at her. His blue eyes were filled with mirth and it was a shocking contrast to that laugh.

"I want to protect you." He finally said. The phrase tumbled awkwardly from his lips, his gift of skillful tongue deserting him with the sentence.

Amy raised an eyebrow. "From what?"

A great, mad, unrestrained anger seemed to well up in the consulting detective in a instant. "I can't tell you that don't you _see_?!" he said thunderously, beseechingly and yet so furiously at the same time. Sherlock moved his hands to shake her, but threaded them through his own black locks instead. He wanted to say something, but…Amy knew that he wouldn't. If Sherlock didn't want to discuss something, Sherlock wouldn't discuss something. It was quite simple.

"Sherlock you're scarin' me." Amy warned.

He blinked and looked up, sighing as he did so.

"An hour, yes?" Sherlock leaned back against the bench and crossed one leg over the other. "Well then Amelia," he steepled his fingers and smiled at her. "Let's make the most of it, shall we?"

* * *

And for the duration of that hour, they talked. It didn't seem like very long at all to them. An hour felt like a minute in Sherlock's constantly roving mind, and in Amy's, it felt as if any second she wouldn't see him anymore, so she might as well cram everything into one giant story.

She talked about the Doctor, the aliens she had befriended…the Doctor some more. Her voice took on a slightly peeved tone when she spoke of a rather enigmatic woman named River Song. It was a curious thing for Amy to be jealous, and Sherlock wanted to hear more, but she skipped right along to other amazing adventures amid the stars. Her green eyes lit up like Christmas whenever her lips said, "Doctor." She talked of their enemies.

The idea of the Weeping Angels intrigued him. Sherlock liked the idea of killers that turned to stone. They were clever, they were crafty, they could bide their time…it was fascinating. The idea of a lonely killer, stalking its prey, turning to stone before it could be harmed was an interesting one. He remarked that he'd very much like to catch and study one.

Amy laughed and said that she didn't want to rescue him from the nineteenth century.

When Sherlock's turn to talk came, he was hesitant. He only remembered the importance of cases, he insisted, nothing of sentiment. And yet as he kept talking, he found that he did. He remembered every ridiculous little conversation he and John had had, every comment exchanged between he and Donovan and Anderson…everything. It was a curious little thing and Sherlock wasn't quite sure if he liked it or not.

He talked of each case with fleeting, tangible detail. Each experiment made his eyes light up with that childish excitement he'd kept hidden all those years. Every little spat with Lestrade made him chuckle quietly. When he talked about Mrs. Hudson, there was affection in his voice, thick and unused to being used. When he spoke of John, Sherlock actually laughed.

It made Amy happy to see him like this. He was her best friend, and while that would never change, she was certainly glad that he had found people to talk to while she perused about the galaxy.

The person of Moriarty both intrigued and alarmed her. Yet Sherlock glossed over the subject when she tried to compel him to share more stories. He simply told her, begrudgingly, that he was an evil man and needed to put down as soon as possible. All signs of his early merriment vanished and Amy found herself sitting next to the old Sherlock. The eight year old sociopath with little to no regard for other humans and under the impression that he was great deal better than they ever could be.

She then brought up Donovan and Anderson to lighten the mood and Sherlock groaned, flopping back like an old gossip. He put his feet in her lap and muttered that they should just get married already. He talked about the numerous different ways he knew they were sleeping together, and how hilarious it was. He broke out into a grin again.

"At one point I arrive for a case, and Sally's wearing his shirt from yesterday!" Sherlock threw his arms in the air. "How stupid can two people be?!" he asked of her, of the universe as if it was a crime that they were ever conceived. "She'll get pregnant." He affirmed to the sky. Amy only laughed.

"What?" he asked, puzzled. He sat up, hair a mess and gave her an annoyed stare.

"Nothin'."

A horn honked and they both looked up.

"That'd be mine." Sherlock said curtly. As Amy flipped her flaming red hair to look, he bristled with unease. He could have kicked himself. That was what happened when he spent time with Amy. She made him more…human. And it was always so much more difficult to recover after she left, always a challenge to sew back on that careful mask of indifference after each visit.

So a small part of him was relieved that it would be the last.

But only a small part.

When Amy turned to look at him, however, Sherlock had composed himself.

"I have to go." He said bluntly, swiftly standing and pulling her with him. Amy narrowed her eyes at his sudden change of mood. His blue eyes kept leaping from point to point, as if looking for some great danger she wasn't yet aware of. She tried to catch his attention.

"Yea whatever Sherly are you sure you're alright?" He turned his head a different direction each time she tried to stare at him. Sherlock still had a hold of her hand, and now he had even pulled her subconsciously behind him, as if shielding her.

Amy hit him on the head sharply.

"OW! What?" Sherlock looked at her reproachfully. "Yes, I'm fine now shut up and listen." The consulting detective took in their close proximity and withdrew a great deal. He still held her hand fast in his own, as if reluctant to let it go. Amy was sure, however, that it must have been for some other reason because his blue eyes were their usual calm, collected selves.

"Take care of yourself, Amelia." He said stiffly. Amy nodded, gently pulling her hand away. "Okay…?" she said. "You too. Now go on." She crossed her arms as if cold and a faint smile came to her face. "Wouldn't wanna miss your cab."

He seemed confused by her sudden withdrawal. But Sherlock only looked to the cab anxiously and muttered a soft, "Yes, I would." Yet the thought seemed quietly directed towards himself. Pensive.

"Sherlock!" Amy said as the driver impatiently leaned on his horn.

"I'm fine." Sherlock repeated again in irritation. "Goodbye Amy." He kissed her cheek swiftly, touching her red hair and dashing off before she could blink. It was a rare gesture of intimacy, something the detective wasn't familiar with and certainly something she didn't expect.

He dashed off to the cab with that mad, impatient stride of his.

She couldn't help but call out to him one last time. "Sherlock!" The consulting detective stopped and waited. Amy smiled. "Be careful, alright?" He nodded cordially before stepping in. She watched the taxi until it was completely out of sight. She watched him go, anxious and worried and praying that for once the Doctor was wrong, that for once he didn't know everything and Sherlock would be fine.

A cab rolled up next to her some five minutes later.

"Cab for a Miss Amelia Pond?" The driver asked, leaning out the window. He smiled at her. He was a reasonably good looking chap, cute grin on his face, bits of stubble here and there…Amy couldn't help but smile back. Yet if there was one thing both the Doctor and Sherlock had told her, it was _"Never get in unfamiliar cabs, Amy."_

"I didn't order a cab, sorry." Amy said slowly. She took a slight step back. Noticing her hesitation, the driver held his hands up. "Whoa, whoa, it's alright. I was sent by a Mr. uh…" He scrambled for his clipboard. "Sherlock Holmes?" He looked up, smiling. "You know him, sweetheart?"

Amy nodded and felt relief crash over her.

"Well good." His brown eyes sparkled happily. "Then there's nothing to worry about if it's a ca ya know, is there sweetheart?" A slight Irish accent lingered under his words. He smiled at her again, a lovely smile filled to the brim with such charisma that Amy couldn't help but smile back again. She got in the cab and shut the door.

Turning, the cabbie extended his hand. "Pleasure." The two shook hands and he kissed hers smoothly. "You're a cute one." He whispered huskily against her skin. Amy laughed. "You're not so bad yourself there."

He swept his baseball cap from his head to reveal brown hair, short and closely cropped. His eyes were intense, brown, and wonderfully playful. His mouth twitched in a never-ending puppy dog like smile. "It's what I do, Amelia." The cabbie inclined his head in a small bow. His phone beeped and he glanced at it.

"Oh! We're late." His smile turned apologetic. "Sorry." He grimaced. With one last look, he turned and put his hands back on the wheel.

As the car started, Amy looked into his mirror. "Sorry, didn't catch your name?" His eyes twinkled.

That smile crept up on his face again.

"Richard Brook. Glad to have you."

And the two drove off.

* * *

So. Had to leave it on a cliffhanger, I'm sorry! It seemed appropriate, given the circumstance. You like? Review. Please I love love _love _reading them! Until next time…


	4. Balance in the Universe

So. After that _dreadful_ cliffhanger, which I'm sure had a fair bit of you either biting your nails or cursing my name…I have returned. I've been in school for the past five weeks and I just turned sixteen, so…been busy, sorry. But here I am!

* * *

Molly: When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.

Sherlock: Molly.

Molly: You look sad. When you think he can't see you.

* * *

**Ships in the Night**

**Balance in the Universe**

Bored.

Bored.

He'd shoot a gun if it wouldn't terrify every civilian within a two mile radius.

Sherlock sighed. He took anxious, pacing steps, one two three, to the ledge, off the ledge, to the door, to the ledge, one two three…and he _still _wasn't here. And Moriarty was punctual, obsessively so.

So why wasn't he _here_?

_Where are you? This waiting game grows tedious. _

_-SH_

The consulting detective sighed, running his fingers through his hair for lack of anything better to do.

It wasn't nearly as soft as Amy's…

He stopped. A frown came across his face as this unwelcome thing came to his mind. He fingered the scarf about his neck. That thought had been completely…unbidden. Distractedly, he filed it into a box labeled 'Elaborate' and made a mental note to do so later.

Moriarty. That was the most prominent issue at hand. James. Moriarty. Sherlock narrowed his eyes impulsively. It was a tricky thing to make him angry, even more so to push him to this degree of ire. And yet Moriarty knew exactly where to get him. To strike at his pride, his loved ones…

Sherlock was seeing red.

But that was simply due to the fact that the scarf was fluttering in his face. Just as he had told Amy it would. God he hoped that she had listened to him. She better have, those instructions were for her protection. Never one to be obedient, Amy had shocked him when she had at least contemplated his warning.

The scarf smacked his face again. He briefly considered removing the offending article, as it was really no use to him anyway when his phone beeped. The wind about the rooftop hushed, as if the entire world was holding its breath in sick anticipation, waiting for the end.

_You really should be more careful who little Amy talks to these days. _

_-M_

He froze. And as he turned, the wind blew him the scent of her perfume. That damn bottle of Chanel he had bought her for Christmas last year. "H-Hey Sherlock." Amy didn't stutter. Her words were without fail, without fault, perfect in every sense and filled with Amy confidence. Unless she was afraid. And that time she had been afraid, that crack had been there in her wall all those years ago.

His mind burned with rage and desperation. Sherlock tried to look impassive, and for the life of him, he wasn't sure how he had succeeded. His blue eyes flicked away from her, as if she wasn't there, handcuffed to a railing by Moriarty's side. He focused on Moriarty, Moriarty and that smirk.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock..." He shook his head back and forth. "I thought you were better than this, I really did." He took Amy's face in hand and turned it to the side. "What is _this_?" Moriarty asked in disdain. "How many more of these things do you have?" Amy sank her teeth into his hand viciously.

"And they're not even _trained_, for Godssake." His tone dripped with false remorse. Amy smiled at him. He nodded. "But I do approve. She's…_fiery_." He looked at Sherlock. "I like that in a woman." And in front of him, his temper already wearing thin as it were, Moriarty drew his hand back and slapped her harshly across her face.

The scarf wasn't fluttering in his face this time.

He wasn't sure how Moriarty had ended up on the receiving end of his hands, feet just on the ledge of the building. But there was he, calmly leaning back in front of him, Sherlock's hands clutching his suit. "Sherly, that's enough." Amy said sharply. He was too angry.

Moriarty giggled. "Sherly? Is that what she calls you?" he laughed again and Sherlock pushed him so his toes were all that kept him on the ledge. He looked at him, scandalized and wide-eyed.

"Sherlock, stop." Stern authority dominated her voice.

"You're insane." Sherlock spat. Moriarty looked at him condescendingly. "You're just now figuring that out?" His hands loosened and Moriarty grabbed him.

"Sherlock."

Dammit Amy, you weren't supposed to be here, why were you so stupid, I told you to leave, dammit dammit dammit.

Sherlock reluctantly pulled Moriarty up. "Thank you darling." He smiled at her and Amy looked at him coldly. He soon reverted his gaze to Sherlock once more. "She's got you on a leash, doesn't she?" He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and she kicked him.

"You're dealing with me, Moriarty. Leave her out of this."

"Oh no." Moriarty said, shaking his head. "Oh no no no, she's a part of this too, Sherly." He uttered the nickname with a sickening sweet cruelty. Sherlock looked at him, not comprehending.

"Think of it as a little extra incentive. Your friends will die…" a red dot appeared on Amy's forehead and Sherlock understood. Comprehension made itself painstakingly known on his face. And Moriarty smiled. "If you don't."

The first word that came to his lips was, "John."

"Everyone."

Moriarty smiled at him, a taunting, winning smile that made Sherlock want to wrap his fingers around his throat. He supposed that the anger must have reflected in his eyes and on his face, because Amy look concerned and Moriarty just looked smug.

"But there _is_ a way you know." He said.

"A way to what?" Sherlock ground out. The Cheshire smile only grew larger. "Ah." He said. "Of course." He looked at Moriarty rather anticlimactically. "My suicide." Amy stopped struggling to look at them. She watched as Moriarty led Sherlock, _her _Sherlock, her best friend, over to that damn ledge. She tensed as they stood there, looking into oblivion, out over a precipice they could only fall over together.

They murmured to each other in low, hushed voices. Sherlock said something, and Moriarty's eyes widened slightly. He gave Sherlock a curt nod and stepped back. He walked over to her, but she had eyes for Sherlock, only Sherlock, that man she had known since childhood, her _friend_ since childhood, someone she _loved_… "Hey sweetheart." Moriarty leaned nonchalantly towards her against the rail. She couldn't stop staring at Sherlock. Not like this, it couldn't happen like this, Sherlock was too brilliant for this…her eyes flicked to Moriarty in absolute loathing…_creature _to beat him.

"Wants a moment of privacy." He explained to her as they looked at Sherlock's back. He was talking hastily on a mobile phone. "Not too fond of him now, by the way." Moriarty continued, staring at his nemesis. "You made him like _this._" He said the last word in distaste. Amy raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't do a thing to him. He's always been a psychopath."

"Yes." Moriarty said in rapturous, quiet scorn. "But you made him _human_." He grabbed her chin and forced their eyes to meet. "You made him _weak._ All of this…" he gestured around them with his other hand. "All of this _disaster_, how pathetically _easy _it was for me to beat him…" His lips were at her ear. "His _death_…all of this, every little thing that happens up here…"

"_It's happened because of you_."

When Amy head butted him and sent him sprawling to the ground, Moriarty hit her head against the metal bar with brute force. The world spun and she struggled to focus. "Much better." He nodded. "I like you better this way, Amelia. Some fires simply _need _to be put out."

Sherlock began to laugh from the ledge, a low, warm, genuine laugh filled with success and pity. It was cruel, but warm. A freezing, cold laugh, but a gentle, playful one.

"What?" Moriarty asked in irritation. His laugh only got louder. "It's too easy." He said, still chuckling as he stepped back from the ledge.

"_WHAT?!" _Moriarty roared. He attacked Sherlock, but he evaded it, still chuckling, putting him in a rather loose chokehold. "There's a safe word. One to call the snipers off." Moriarty shoved him off. The two faced each other.

"Jump. Or I will kill her." He pointed to Amy.

Sherlock's grin widened. "Don't worry, Amy." It was the first time he had spoken to her since her capture. His blue eyes were charged again, sparked with that light, bright and excited at the inevitability of victory. Amy could have laughed at the poor consulting criminal. He looked so very bewildered.

"Oh Jim." Sherlock put his hands on Moriarty's shoulders as a father might his son. Moriarty looked at him as if he'd gone barmy. "As long as I have you, no one has to die." A smile lit up his face like Christmas.

Amy felt a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders. The Doctor was wrong, he'd been wrong. Sherlock wouldn't be dying today.

He had challenged time.

He had challenged destiny, and Sherlock Holmes…had won.

When Moriarty began to laugh, they both grew confused. "Oh Sherly." He put his own hands on Sherlock's shoulder. His expression was one of pity. One that said, "You're so cute when you think you've won." And that was exactly what he said.

"What would you _possibly_ do to me?" Moriarty asked, shrugging. "You're boring. Ordinary. You're on the side of the _angels_." He wrinkled his nose at the very thought.

Sherlock nodded slowly, sympathetically.

Jim bristled at the pity in those blue eyes.

"That may be true, Jim." He leaned in. "But." He whispered into the shorter man's ear.

"Don't think for a _second_ that I am one of them."

He seemed perplexed at his statement.

"Then what are you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

Sherlock looked at the man in front of him with a quiet, triumphant air. "I…"

Moriarty leaned in with subconscious anxiety.

"am you. We are the same, Jim. Identical."

Moriarty smiled. "Nah, you're ordinary."

Sherlock shook his head.

"I am you. Willing to so everything it takes, whatever it takes, to …"

"Bored." They both said in unison.

Moriarty nodded at him. "You're right." He tapped Sherlock's temple twice in rapid succession. "We think _exactly_ the same." A smile spread across his face, slowly, steadily, as a broken ink bottle does across an important letter. He smiled and kissed Sherlock on both cheeks, to his surprise.

"I understand." He said softly. The other two occupants of the rooftop looked at him as if he'd lost it. The wind began to pick up again, tiny whistle rising steadily into a stream of whispers. "Oh thank you, Sherlock Holmes. Thank you." He bowed his head. "Bless you."

"Miss Amelia." He bowed to her as a gentleman. Amy stared at him blankly.

"If we're the same, what am I thinking?"

"I've got a way out." Sherlock said, smiling. "No one has to die today."

"Good boy." Moriarty nodded in approval. "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends."

Amy saw his hand twitch apprehensively as he shook Sherlock's hand. She caught on before he did and called out a warning.

"Well good luck with that!" Sherlock ran for him, but it was too late.

A bang shattered the eerily calm silence surrounding St. Bart's rooftop.

And Jim Moriarty died. He died with that psychotic smile frozen in rigor mortis on his face, that smiled that haunted Sherlock whenever he closed his eyes. The smell of blood choked the air, his brown eyes wide open and staring as a crimson ocean slithered from his blown apart skull.

Jim Moriarty had died.

And with him, he had taken the victory Sherlock had been so sure was in his grasp.

He looked at Amy. Her green eyes were wide, fixed on Moriarty. He swallowed, turning away. He called John in a hurry, darting to the rooftop.

She looked up when he was there, standing there, arm outstretched to someone she couldn't see, voice urgent. "John, stay there. Stay right there, keep your eyes fixed on me."

Amy began to struggle against her cuffs. "Oy, Sherlock let me out! We need to get down from here!"

"Amy, hush." He turned briefly to her. With some shock, she saw that there were tears in his eyes, bright crystalline tears that looked so out of place in them. A few rolled down his cheeks and Amy stopped. "Sherlock…"

He turned back, to look at John, the John he was crying for, crying at. "This phone call…it's my note." Amy narrowed her eyes at him viciously. He wasn't seriously considering…? No. He couldn't be, he wasn't _that_ stupid.

"That's what people do isn't it? Leave a note." His voice was flat.

Sherlock Holmes was not _that_ stupid.

"Goodbye John." He shut the phone briskly and turned to her. She shook her head, slowly, cautiously. "Don't even think about it. Don't be an idiot, Sherlock."

She saw it in his eyes, that noble sacrifice he thought would solve everything.

He saw resolution.

"Amy." His eyes were dry again, a few lingering tears hanging on to his cheeks. He smiled.

"Amy, it's okay. It's alright Amy. Everything…" he looked down. "will be fine."

He turned and smiled at her again.

His eyes were telling her to be strong, she'd be fine, she'd be perfectly fine without him.

They were saying goodbye.

"Sherlock, no. I mean it." She said furiously. He turned his head to look down again.

He shifted and gave her one last look. A single, solitary tear lingered in his eyes. Hers, on the other hand, were filling rapidly and a sob was rising in her throat.

"Sherlock don't."

Sherlock, please don't do this.

Not for me, not for anyone, don't do it, don't please

He gave her a small, wan smile.

"Amelia Pond…Amy. Brilliant Amy."

He stretched his arms wide as if preparing to fly some place. He shifted again and the wind was so strong now, muffled sounds beginning to crescendo into shrieks.

Somewhere, distantly, coming, was a whirring sound over the wind.

"Goodbye."

And he fell.

"_Sherlock_!"

She struggled again, hearing. The sounds of people gathering, exclaiming in horror. The TARDIS, materializing. The Doctor, throwing open the rooftop door and running to her side. Moments later. Moments too late.

"Doctor." She murmured dully. Her eyes were shiny, fixed on the spot he had just jumped from. "Save him." The Doctor simply checked her for injury, running a hand through his hair in agitation and murmuring soothing words to her.

Amy dimly felt tears trailing down her cheeks.

Those hands, whose touch she always yearned for, now felt cold. They flitted anxiously over her body, her forehead, her arms, at her side. He gripped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, moving in front of her view. She was now well aware of the tears. "Amy, Amy, oh Amelia, I'm so so so sorry…" She didn't care about his pity.

Sherlock. She wanted Sherlock.

Her best friend…

The Doctor sonicked her handcuffs.

"Let's go."

Amy wrenched herself from his embrace and went to the ledge.

"_SHERLOCK_!" She cried, leaning over. Sherlock, no, it wasn't…it couldn't be… no no no no no "no no no" Amy found herself whispering over and over.

It would bring him back.

He wasn't dead.

Blood, so much blood…

That wasn't him lying there. That wasn't his blood.

So much blood, his head, oh god, the _blood_, she could see it from here.

Sherlock was…

"Amelia, come away."

"No."

"Amy, come on."

"_No._ Doctor…no." Her voice cracked on the last word. The Doctor grabbed her arms, pulling her to him, trying to pull her away. She hit at him. "Go back!" she shouted. He pulled her towards the stairs, arms wrapped about her waist as she kicked. "Go back and save him!"

She broke free of him and ran.

She ran downstairs so fast, down to the pavilion.

If she hurried…he'd be down there. He'd be down there laughing at her, excitedly explaining how it had all been a trick… Those eyes would light up, those beautiful eyes that were so alive when they were clever… He'd laugh and say, "C'mon Amy. The game is on!" and he'd run… he'd dash off ecstatically, looking like a nut in that coat flapping behind him and his scarf fluttering in the breeze.

That couldn't be him.

"He's my friend, let me through…"

Had she or John said that? They pushed through. Blood, so much blood. A woman she didn't know pulled her back and away from him. Sherlock. His eyes, wide, staring, blank, that spark dead and gone… "oh Jesus…" John, dazed and muttering, feeling his pulse…Paramedics, doctors, complete strangers who had never even _known_ him pushed them back.

And he was taken away.

Just like that.

He was whisked away as if he didn't matter. Those blue eyes wide open, seeing, not observing, that wonderfully clever brain, caved in.

Amy felt a strangled sob escape her lips. She couldn't look away from that sight. Sherlock…on a stretcher. Being sheparded away to some morgue, some cold place where he would be more alone than ever, cut up, buried….

"Amy, Amy…" The Doctor brought her to his arms and that's when she fully began to cry. Restrained sobs that would only be unleashed when he finally left her alone. It began to rain. And Sherlock's blood was washed away, simply swept away as if he had never existed…as if the man known as the world's only consulting detective had been a mere thought, a fleeting idea that was deemed too much for this world and therefore ripped from it.

The Doctor brought her into the TARDIS, struggling. "Doctor, take me to him. Please. Take me back!"

He shook his head sadly.

"Doctor, _please_!"

"Amelia." He took her face in his hands and sat her down. The TARDIS dematerialized from that damn place, from that cursed time. "This was _supposed_ to happen. And I am sorry, I am so so sorry…" A few tears lingered on her cheeks, green eyes wide and pained. "but Sherlock can't come back. Not this time."

He moved to embrace her, but she went off to her room.

_Not Sherlock. Anyone but him, anyone, please not him not him not him never Sherlock _

If only she had stayed in Leadworth. If only she had listened to the Doctor when he wouldn't take her back. If only she had been around more. If only she had listened to Sherlock and left…

She locked her door and cried. The Doctor stayed in the console room. She threw her face in her hands and cried. The sobs that eventually fought their way to the surface were raw and heartbroken. For once, grief laid bare on her normally happy person, harsh and despaired.

He couldn't take it.

He stood outside her room for five minutes, hand poised to knock. Trying to figure out how to comfort her.

Trying to gather up the courage to go inside.

His ears took in her every cry, every sob that came from the lips of someone who was ordinarily so carefree and playful. Every sound of grief that came from smiling, laughing lips seemed to sound…wrong.

That couldn't be Amy.

It wasn't her.

So he left.

The next morning, Amy awoke from a dreamless slumber. She showered, she dressed, and she tried to put on a typical Amy grin. It seemed…strained. It couldn't quite stay properly on her face. But she still tried.

When Amy found what she deemed either a very poor smile, or a very grand grimace, she squared her shoulders and marched towards the console room.

"Doctor?" She cursed her hoarse voice. "Doctor, where are you?" She leaned against the console impatiently. Sexy whirred. They must still be floating around in the universe somewhere.

"Amelia?"

"Yea Amelia, now where are you hidin'? I want to go somewhere spacey!" Amy drew out the last word with a rambunctious flair. She turned and grinned at the sound of his voice.

"Amy! You're up, oh this is wonderful!" The Doctor grinned. He was careful with his words. He took caution to not say Sherlock, Moriarty, death, or squishy rubber ball in his conversation. Some things just didn't need to be said at the current time.

Instead he smiled.

"Where ya wanna go, Pond?" The Doctor pulled the monitor down. "Aztec civilization at its' peak…?" The image flashed by.

"First human colony to _successfully _start a colony on Mars, at least to my knowledge?" The tall man turned and winked at her. "Didn't work out so great the last time. Gave me a new face. New teeth." He ran his tongue over them, curious look on his face. Amy laughed. "Well, I like your face."

She directed her attention to an odd little thing sitting on the console.

"Doctor?"

"Hm?" He said distractedly, sifting through pictures on the monitor.

"What's this doin' here?"

"Hm?" The Doctor looked. "Hm. Ah, OH, _that_. He wrenched it from her grasp, examining it closely. "_THAT..._Is a coffee cup, Pond. Decided to try this stuff…" he licked the inside of it curiously.

And threw it outside.

"And _that_ was why it was on the monitor." The Doctor started rubbing his tongue with both hands. "Ghastly stuff. Bad, bad coffee."

Amy laughed.

"Well it _was _black, you know." A voice uttered smoothly from the hallway.

She blinked, and looked incredulously.

"Oh hush." The Doctor flapped a hand at him, looking through more destinations. "You should know better than to leave it out."

"If I had known you were going to throw it into space, I wouldn't have left it out."

"But I thought you were _the Grand Deducer_." The Doctor remarked.

The voice fell silent.

Amy simply stood there, blank faced. Her green eyes were the only things that moved. They blinked. The Doctor threw her a glance before turning to the hallway.

"You might as well come out now. No use hiding from her anymore." The tall man grimaced. "_Believe_ me, she is champ at hide and seek."

A low, baritone chuckle swept through the TARDIS.

Footsteps.

And out of the shadows stepped black pants, a white shirt, black coat, and red scarf.

"Hello Amy."

She stared. His voice was low, cautious, every bit as wonderful as she remembered it to be. His eyes were careful, bright blue locked doors as unreadable as they had always been. Amy stared. And stared. This was certainly something she wanted in her brain forever.

Once she woke up, of course.

He made no motion to move closer. Nor did she.

"Doctor?" she turned to her friend, breaking the spell. "Question." The Doctor turned to her from his work, fiddling with a gizmo of some sort. "Yes?" he asked, smiling. She was surprised, she was so surprised that she was completely…emotionless. His smile faded a bit.

Sherlock cautiously approached the pair.

"Are there more Dream Lord dust particle things in the TARDIS again?" His happy expression morphed to confusion at her question. Worriedly, the Doctor glanced at Sherlock. He was watching them quietly, observing. Bracing himself it seemed.

He looked back to Amy. She was expectantly gazing at him.

"Don't think so, why?"

And that was when she pushed Sherlock out into deep space.

* * *

You like? I like. Tell me what you liked, and even what you didn't like! I'm trying to build up my constructive criticism tolerance! Review if you please, they make my day. I'll dedicate the next chapter to the first reviewee…and it's just awesome.

Bye!


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